


Chirrut has a type, and he knows it.

by TuppingLiberty



Series: As the Universe Wills It - Force Husbands [5]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chirrut POV, Farmer's Market, M/M, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Chirrut's POV of how Baze and Chirrut met in the Seattle Modern AU - at the Farmer's MarketDay 1 of Spiritassassin Week: First Impressions





	Chirrut has a type, and he knows it.

**2000**

“Who replaced Dee?” Chirrut sat in the shade of Karen’s booth, munching on raspberries he’d bought from her and making appropriate (and sometimes inappropriate, depending on if Karen needed a laugh) sounds while he ate them, to attract customers.

“I’m going to ask,” Karen muttered, mostly to herself. “I’m going to ask, even though I've known you for five years, and I know you can _see_ damn near everything even if you actually can’t, and your answer is going to make me feel like shit about my own lack of senses. But. I’m going to ask: how did you know Dee was gone?”

Chirrut shrugged easily, feeling for another raspberry and chewing on it. “That corner of the market has become a lot quieter. And that godawful perfume she wore is no longer assaulting my nose.”

“Ah, god, it was awful, wasn’t it?” He heard Karen rearrange fruits on her table, probably creating a more advantageous display. “It’s a potter. Really pretty stuff, actually. But, um, he’s a bit. Uh. Gruff.”

“Oh?” Chirrut knew the curiosity in his voice would signal a description from Karen. He’d trained her, and most of his friends, very well.

“He sits at the back of his booth, arms crossed over his chest - massive chest, well, massive arms too. He’s, um. Massive.”

“Massive like fat?”

“Oh, no. Like huge muscles.”

“Oh?” Chirrut asked again, unable to keep the interest from his voice and biting down on his lip. He had, if ever, a type, as much as it pained him to admit it. In general, Chirrut _hated_ being manhandled. Unless, of course, it was by a big, burly man, and he was being manhandled in bed. Then- he shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Describe his face," he tried to say as casually as possible.

Karen's descriptions were always a little clinical, like she was a detective describing a suspect or something. “Asian descent, black ear length hair, really messy, like he hasn’t had a haircut in a while. He’s got a, um, scar, looks newish, bright red, all around his left eye.”

Chirrut stiffened. “Is he blind in that eye?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Karen mused, and Chirrut felt a little stab of disappointment. He didn't exclusively date hard of sight men, or sighted men, it wasn't a dealbreaker either way, it just- just would have been nice. “Just...looks gruff. He _looks_ like he’d snap your head off for looking at his stuff, and I’ve actually _seen_ him do it to potential customers.” She clicked her tongue. “I don’t think he’s going to last long.”

“But his stuff is nice?”

“Yeah, it is. Big stuff. Flower pots and the like. Some bowls and stuff, too, but you can tell he throws the big stuff a lot. I mean, he’s got huge hands, so-”

“So you know what that means,” Chirrut retorted, and Karen snorted.

“You’d know better than me, dear.”

Chirrut eased himself to his feet and set his cane before him. He counted steps and listened intently for anyone who might accidentally walk into his path. When he estimated that he was in front of the potter, he paused, discreetly tapping to find the edge of his booth.

“I had to come see the new guy.” It was the sort of thing Chirrut always tried on new people: make a joke about his sight, see how they reacted. He could tell a lot by what they did. What he got here, though, was silence. Not exactly stony silence, he decided, but more like the potter had no fucking clue what to say to that. He always let that kind off the hook, and extended his hand as he laughed. “Chirrut Îmwe.”

The potter chuckled nervously, and Chirrut had enough time to think _oh shit, he sounds cute_ , before his hand was being grasped. “Baze Malbus. Yeah, I thought I’d try the market out this year.”

“May I?” Confident of his surroundings now, Chirrut reached out for one of the potter’s pieces, which turned out to be a bowl. He felt over the glaze with his fingers, picking up on the subtle grooves that marked it as a hand-thrown pot. “Nice weight. Smooth glaze. Good thickness. This is well done, Mr. Malbus.” It wasn’t a lie- Chirrut wasn’t in the business of making people feel nice about what they’d done. If the bowl had felt atrocious, he would have found a way to weasel out of the conversation.

“Oh, you can call me Baze. Um, thanks.” The man sounded humble, almost embarrassed to be told his art was good.

_And isn't that interesting?_

Chirrut tried to ignore the feelings Baze’s cute - yes, gruff, sure, but humble and adorable - voice was giving him as they meandered through some small talk about where Chirrut lived, and his background. Chirrut listened carefully for surprise or disdain when he mentioned his interest in art, but Baze, for all that he was awkward and gruff, treated him like a human. An able-bodied one, at that. Until Chirrut almost tripped over the dog, that is.

Chirrut had been preparing a smooth exit, tossing a quip over his shoulder about Baze not being as gruff as Karen had thought, when a strong, broad - _jeez, he does have massive hands -_ hand wrapped around his arm and pulled Chirrut back against him. Chirrut heard a crash, and all the nice things he’d been thinking about this Baze Malbus flew out the window as he was filled with outrage. “What- I _don’t_ appreciate being manhandled,” Chirrut bit off. _You don’t just grab blind people,_ it was on the tip of his tongue to say, but Baze was already talking.

“There was a leash- you were about to trip- Sorry. Sorry. ”

Chirrut stiffened. He would have been okay, he assured himself. His cane would have caught the leash, and he would have been able to back up, and he would have been _fine._ He took a deep breath, shoving the embarrassment of it down deep inside and smiling a little to mollify Baze. He knelt down, feeling carefully for the pieces so he wouldn’t cut himself. “How much was it?’

“You don’t have to pay. Seriously. It’s my fault.”

 _Yeah, it kinda was,_ Chirrut thought unfairly before shaking his head. “I insist. Besides, all is as the universe wills it.”

 _All is as the universe wills it._ He took refuge in that phrase more often than he probably should. Some people accused him of having a laissez faire attitude about life. _Some people_ weren't Chirrut, though. What worked for him, he stuck with.

There was a pause, but Baze eventually said, “Ten dollars.”

Chirrut raised an eyebrow at him. “What, is it ugly or something?” He shook his head. He knew quality work, and he knew the people that shopped here. And the farmer’s market would be more impressed by quality work at higher prices than lower prices. People in this neighborhood dressed to impress, and bought goods for the same reason. He pressed a twenty into Baze’s hand and put the pieces of bowl carefully down into his bag, waving away a hand when Baze offered to throw the shards away.

When Chirrut walked away a few moments later, he’d come to several conclusions: one, that Baze Malbus was a fucking teddy bear in a real bear’s body (although his orientation was still an unknown, dammit); two, that unfortunately for Chirrut, that was _exactly_ Chirrut’s type; three, that despite his affront, Chirrut hadn’t really minded being manhandled by Baze Malbus, not really; and four, that Baze needed help connecting to the crowd and selling his wares.

“Cheri, hello, and how are you?” he murmured when he had wound his way back to Karen’s stall.

“I just really don’t know how you do that, Chirrut.”

 _You smell like a rose garden turning a little sour,_ he thought. “I’m magic,” he said instead, making his voice sound mystical. “Hey, Cheri, any weddings or anything coming up?”

“Well, actually-”

“Because the new potter’s stuff is beautiful. It would be perfect for a housewarming gift, or a wedding, or a birthday.”

“Oh, well, you know, you never steer me wrong.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a good eye for that kind of thing,” Chirrut murmured, and Karen snorted at his side while Cheri laughed uncomfortably. _And that’s why Karen is a friend and Cheri isn’t._

When they’d completed the transaction, Chirrut leaned in. “Is she going over there?”

“Yup,” Karen confirmed, and Chirrut gave a satisfied nod. “So, how was he?”

“He needs some help, but he’s alright.”

“You think he’s cute.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Again, wrong person to ask.”

“He’s shy.”

“Ah, well, opposites attract.”

Chirrut stuck his tongue out in Karen's direction. “He needs a friend.”

Karen was silent for a little bit, rearranging fruit. “You’re good at that, Chirrut,” she said softly, sincerely.

Chirrut nodded in acknowledgement, smiling a little. “Think I’ll sit with him next week.”

Karen’s hand patted over his. “Seems like a good plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a story for every day of spiritassassin week for these two! 
> 
> I'm @animalasaysrauer on tumblr
> 
> Leave me kudos and comments please, they are my life blood


End file.
